Break on Through
by paperbkryter
Summary: Azazel's master plan is revealed and the brothers must race against time to save not only Sam, but the world from a horrible fate.
1. The Big Reveal

Bobby Singer's spare bedroom was bathed in light. Every lamp they could get hold of, every candle they could safely burn, filled the room with light to rival the brightest of summer days. If they'd dared, they would have had Castiel add the brilliance of his true form to the mix, but they were not yet that desperate.

All the light was pointed toward the center of the room where an an iron-framed double bed sat in the middle of a field of runes. The runes had been drawn upon the wooden floor in chalk and captured within a pentagram. Iron nails were driven into the floor at every point of the star. Salt outlined the circle that encompassed it all. Throughout the room were hung herbs of various kinds. Incense burned in a holder upon a dresser shoved back into the corner.

Bobby himself checked the incense. It would have to be renewed soon. He exchanged glances with Dean. "You should get some sleep."

Dean's answer was not unexpected.

"No."

It could have been a scene taken from a time two years prior, when Sam lay dead upon a soiled mattress in an abandoned house a long way from anywhere. Then, like now, Dean leaned against the door jamb looking down at his brother, pondering his next step. The only difference between then and now was that Sam wasn't dead.

Yet.

Only a few days earlier Azazel's master plan had finally been revealed.

* * *

They'd been in Kansas City where they had just missed Lilith. Her trail had gone cold. Sam's temper had gone hot. They'd both been wrung out and exhausted, snapping at each other like a pair of pit bulls, aiming at the most sensitive places with words as sharp as fangs. Stress made Dean drink too much and sleep too little. Hellish nightmares, the worst he'd had in months, plagued him every time he closed his eyes. Sam was on a high following a demonic death spree. He'd sent dozens back to Hell in less than a week – a frighteningly short span of time and an unprecedented use of his abilities. Being deprived of the big fix – Lilith - forced him to rein it all back. Like a junkie, he was going through withdrawal.

The two of them together were like fire and gasoline. An explosion was inevitable. When bad driving conditions forced them to spend another night in town shut up in a motel room together, everything came to a head.

_If this is what doing that shit turns you into, Sam, I'm glad we missed Lilith._

_Really? Or are you just afraid._

_Screw you._

_You're scared, Dean, admit it. Lilith scares the piss out of you._

_Okay, fine. I admit it. I'm in no hurry to meet up with the bitch again._

_I'm going to kill her._

_Riiiight. You've done a real good job so far._

_I wasn't ready. I am now. _

_You've sold your soul, Sammy. Can't you see it?_

_Yeah, maybe I have. If you'd let me do it sooner I could have saved you._

_I didn't want to be saved, not like that!_

_I wouldn't have either but I didn't get a choice. If you hadn't been such a fucking coward...._

Dean cold-cocked him, hit him hard, and this time Sam didn't let it slide. No sooner had the blow connected than Dean hit the wall, the breath crushed from his lungs by the strength of the unseen force that held him pinned. Sam hadn't physically touched him.

It only lasted a second. Sam staggered backward to sit down heavily on one of the beds. Dean was released. He dropped from the wall to his feet, gasping for breath.

Stunned by what had happened, they stared at each other in silence. Dean's expression was one of profound sadness. Sam's was full of fear.

What might have happened next would remain a mystery. Ruby interrupted, bursting in the door looking ragged and worn, her hair a tangled mess from the windstorm outside. The language of her borrowed body spoke of weariness. The expression on her face mirrored that of Sam's – something had frightened her, and frightened her badly.

Without preamble she said, "Anna's dead. Uriel finally caught up to her, but not before she was able to get a message to Castiel."

"How do you know?" Dean demanded.

"Because," Ruby replied, seeking out and helping herself to the bottle of Jack Daniels Dean had stashed under his bed. "Castiel managed to leak the information to me." She raised the bottle and drank, wiping her lips on her sleeve when she finished. The unsteadiness of her hand had been noted. "He didn't dare come tell you himself."

Sam moved to allow her to sit down beside him. "Why?"

She avoided his gaze when she answered. "Because he would have been forced to kill you, Sam." Raising her head to look at Dean, she relayed her message. "Anna found out the truth Lilith has known for over a year now; Lucifer is still imprisoned, but he's no longer in Hell."

"What?" Both brothers spoke in unison.

Dean declined the whiskey. "If he's not in Hell, where is he?"

Ruby glanced back over her shoulder at Sam. "I think you already know."

Sam's brows knitted. He cocked his head slightly sideways. It took only a second, however, before his sharp mind connected the dots. "Azazel," he said hoarsely.

"Azazel, what? What, Sam? What about Azazel?"

Ruby spoke in Sam's stead. "Azazel's master plan was to create a human who could open the Devil's Gate, walk into the pit, and return unscathed – carrying Lucifer out with him."

"That's why Hellfire can't kill me." Sam ran his hands through his hair. "Oh my God."

Dean shook his head. "But that never happened. Jake never got that far. Sam killed him before he could go through the gate!"

"It wouldn't have mattered. Lucifer was already out by then." Ruby snorted. "He got out on a technicality."

Sam stood up, and took the bottle of whiskey with him. "Because," he said, after a long pull. "It wasn't Jake who won Survivor, Cold Oak."

Ruby concurred. "Exactly."

"Yes, he did." Dean insisted. "Jake killed Sam. I was there, I saw it."

"But Sam _defeated_ Jake first. That's what counted. Sam could have easily killed him, but chose not to take that last step. It was a technicality no one could have predicted."

"Sam never went through the Gate, Ruby!"

"But he did go to Hell," Ruby said softly. "And came back."

There was a stunned silence, the second one in less than a half hour, in which Dean realized the portent of the yellow-eyed demon's last words. Sam and Ruby both could tell what he was thinking, the pain and horror were written all over his face.

_How sure are you that what you brought back is one hundred percent pure Sam?_

"But...." Dean stared at his brother, heart racing. "He's not possessed...."

"It's more than a matter of possession, Dean. Lucifer is more than a demon."

"He's an angel," Sam murmured, drinking again before handing the whiskey back to Ruby. "Like Anna. A fallen angel, imprisoned in Hell. He won't be free until the seals are broken, but once he is...."

"There are only two ways to stop this. We have to stop Lilith before she breaks the seals, or we have to send Lucifer back to Hell." Ruby chewed her lip and looked up at Sam, stunning them by revealing tears in her eyes. "There's only one way to send Lucifer back to Hell, and that's to send him back on the soul that brought him here." She turned from Sam to Dean, her brief sojourn into human sorrow over. Her eyes blackened. Her voice and expression turned cold. "That's why God pulled you out of Hell, Dean. You have to fix what you fucked up."

* * *

Dean stepped into the circle, taking care not to disturb any of the lines or sigils as he crossed over to the bed. Attached to each corner of the iron bed frame were iron shackles. Twenty-four hours ago Dean had secured Sam to the bed with them, complaining that it was overkill. Sam insisted. Better safe than sorry, he said.

Had he used regular handcuffs Sam might have been able to convince them to let him go, or simply broken free himself, but the iron kept his abilities in check. It wasn't the iron, however, that was making him so sick. That was something else.

Clad only in jeans in a cool room, Sam should have been cold. Instead sweat beaded up on his forehead and dampened his hair. It pooled in the hollow of his chest and ran down to dampen the sheets. His face was flushed with fever but his eyes were clear, revealing the pain he suffered. They pleaded with Dean to make it stop. Dean was cut to the bone by it, but there was nothing he could do.

Lucifer was more than a demon, possessing more substance than the swirling black smoke of those he commanded. As Dean watched he could see Sam's skin ripple and roll as if something inside were struggling against it. He could see the outline of a clawed hand as it ran up Sam's side. Sam's ribs bulged outward, creaking audibly in harmony to his groan. A moment later a sharp crack resounded through the room, followed by a cry of pain. Dean clenched his fists.

"Son-of-a-bitch."

Sam tossed his head. Blood trickled from one corner of his mouth. "Dean..."

They both heard a laugh, muffled, but clearly a laugh.

Sam's belly suddenly surged upward, swelling outward like some obscene pregnancy. A face appeared, human-like features pressed against taut skin. Clawed fingers pushed against the binding flesh. The laughter became a curse and a growl before subsiding into silence. The swelling abated, leaving behind grotesque bruises in the shape of hands. Sam moaned. Once again he whispered Dean's name, and this time followed it with the plea he had been repeating for hours.

"Kill me."

* * *

Sam sighed. "She shouldn't have said that. You couldn't have known, Dean."

Dean grunted in reply.

"It wasn't fair."

"She's right. You're right...." Dean reached over and turned the key. The Chevy's engine caught. He closed his eyes for a moment, as if savoring the vibrations filtering up through his hands from the steering wheel. The car was safe, familiar. It was home. "I have to fix this."

Sam radiated guilt. "I would have done the same thing."

"I am a coward, Sam."

"No you're not, Dean."

"I was scared. I couldn't go on alone, not like you did, Sammy. Then Hell proved what a chicken shit I am. I broke. I gave in. Dad never cracked like I did."

"You don't know that."

"They told me. He never broke. He stayed on the rack for God knows how long, and he never, ever let them get to him. I couldn't do it."

"Who told you about Dad? Alastair? Are you going to believe that asshole?"

"It doesn't matter. I know Dad. He...."

"Wasn't God!" Sam snapped finally.

Dean put the car in gear. They drove out of the motel parking lot into the street. It was early, hours before dawn, and traffic was nearly nonexistent. The Impala cruised along empty streets toward the interstate as if homing in on the noise, and light, and the promise of civilization. Dean gunned it up the ramp and melded into traffic with the late night travelers.

Ten miles down the road Sam was sorry, sorry for everything. Dean shook his head, blowing off the apology.

"It's not your fault. You're the victim here, Sammy. The bottom line is that if I _wasn't_ a coward...." Dean glanced over at his brother briefly, and then turned his gaze back to the road. "You wouldn't be sitting there right now." Under his breath he added softly. "And neither would I."

Sam chewed his lip. He looked out the window at a blur of trees passing by along the side of the road. They wouldn't be on the interstate for long. Dean didn't like being that conspicuous. Soon they would leave it behind for the long forgotten rural routes, the ones that curved through the American countryside past farms and forest and prairie. They'd criss-crossed the country enough times both brothers recognized established routes. This was no exception.

"We're going to Bobby's?"

"Bobby will know what to do."

"_We_ know what to do, Dean! The angels told you. _Ruby_ told you."

"No." Dean's hands grasped the steering wheel more tightly, making the plastic squeak beneath his hands.

"If you can't, I will," Sam said quietly. "Nobody will hold it against you. You _aren't_ a coward."

"I'm not going to kill you Sammy."

"It's the only way, Dean."

"We'll find Lilith."

"We just _lost _Lilith. The trail is cold and according to Ruby she's only got a few seals left."

"I said no, Sam."

Sam sighed. "And what if we get to Bobby's and he hands you a gun?"

"I'll hand it back."

"We're talking about the end of the world, Dean! Hell on Earth. Armageddon!"

"Do you _want_ to die?" Dean demanded. He gave Sam a hard stare for as long as he could before traffic forced him to pay attention to his driving.

"No, but...."

"Then shut up about it!"

Abruptly the car swerved right, cutting off a small sports car and ducking in behind a semi. Tires squealed, horns honked, and Dean cursed under his breath as they just missed being rear-ended by a minivan. As the Impala roared down the exit ramp it was Sam's turn for a hard stare.

"When I suggested you kill me, I didn't mean via fiery car crash," he said tersely. "This isn't our exit."

"Have you always been such a nag or am I just now noticing?" Dean blew through the stop sign at the end of the ramp and turned into the lot of a fast food restaurant. "I need food. You want anything?"

"No, but Lucifer will have one of those extra spicy chicken sandwiches."

"Dude. You are _so_ not funny."

Sam grinned wryly. "I'm a little funny."

Dean turned on him with a stern expression and an outstretched finger. "No. You are _not_ using my lines against me." He looked out the windshield at the car in front of them in the drive through. "Dammit. Is this guy ordering for a whole freakin' hockey team or what?" Turning the wheel, he took the car out of line and parked.

They sat there for a moment before Sam sighed and reached for the door handle. "I suppose I'm paying too." He got out of the car. "Cheeseburger. Right?"

"Extra onions!" Dean called after him. "And see if...."

"They got pie. Yeah, I know the drill."


	2. An Eye for an Eye

"How long do you think you can keep this up?"

Dean had returned to his vigil at the door, safely outside the Devil's Trap where neither Sam nor Lucifer's powers could harm him. He didn't entirely trust the iron's effectiveness or his own willpower, recalling Andy Gallagher's power of pursuation. He spent as much time as he could outside the circle, only entering to give Sam small sips of water and to wipe the sweat from his brow. Now his brother slept uneasily. At least he slept.

Lucifer didn't. Even from across the room Dean could see the occasional odd movement of skin, flesh or bone as they bowed out in ways they shouldn't, undulated in eerie waves, or twitched spasmodically. It was a type of possession way out of Dean's league. There wasn't just another spirit inside his brother, but some sort of physical entity.

And it wanted out.

He answered the question. "As long as it takes."

Castiel joined Dean in the doorway. "Don't be a fool, Dean. Sam's the only thing holding him back. If your brother dies now Lucifer is reborn, and...."

"Hell on Earth," Dean interrupted. "I don't need your 'I told you so,' right now, Cas. I need to know what to do."

"I don't know what to do," the angel said softly. He stared at the bed where Sam had begun moaning in his sleep. "He's getting stronger."

"More active," Dean agreed. "The light and the herbs were keeping him quiet, but not anymore."

"And Sam's getting weaker."

"Then you better come up with something."

"You should have killed him when you had the chance," Castiel snapped. "Like you were told."

Dean turned on him with a snarl. "You told me to stop it. I tried to stop it. _We_ tried to stop it."

"By using Sam's abilities."

"That was his choice, not mine, but maybe he was right. Those 'abilities' are the only thing saving the entire world from annihilation right now, and you sure as hell wouldn't be whining about it if we'd gotten to Lilith in time!"

"But you didn't."

Sam's eyes opened. They rolled frantically. He turned his head toward the door. "Dean? Dean!"

Dean abandoned the conversation with Castiel. "I'm right here, Sammy. Go back to sleep, okay. It'll be okay."

"Dean. Please...."

Castiel's hand on his arm stopped Dean from crossing the line. "Look," he whispered, nodding toward the bed.

Sam's left wrist was twisting inside the iron cuff that encircled it, angled so that the edge of the cuff bit sharply into his skin. Each twist dug deeper into flesh, carving a bloody track all the way around the wrist just below Sam's hand.

"Like a fox," Castiel said. "Chewing off its own leg to escape a trap."

Dean growled low in his throat. From his back pocket he withdrew a flask. It was not the one in which he kept his whiskey. Castiel let him go this time, stepping back as Dean carefully approached the bed and soaked Sam's arm with holy water. The twisting stopped immediately. The muscles in Sam's arm and chest rippled as if something had been withdrawn from inside. A snakelike form ran across his ribs to the other side. Dean withdrew a ball point pen from another pocket and quickly traced a sigil on Sam's right wrist. He drew it on the left wrist too, and both ankles.

Thus thwarted, Lucifer writhed and twisted inside his prison, snarling up at Dean from beneath Sam's skin. Unnerved, Dean retreated back to the more comforting presence of God's angel.

Castiel was no less unnerved and it showed. "I've always been on your side, Dean. You know that, but...."

"I know," Dean replied, swapping out one flask for another. "I told you so."

* * *

They were at Denny's, two in the morning, with the remains of three Grand Slam breakfasts piled up on the table next to their booth and a map spread out before them. They guzzled coffee like there was no tomorrow. Ruby had brought word of Lilith. They had never made it to Bobby's.

"Tulsa."

"There's something ironic about that," Dean quipped.

"Tulsa has its dark side, just like any other city," Sam murmured. He traced along one potential route with his finger, trying to determine the quickest way to Tulsa from their current location. "It's not all Oral Roberts."

"But not a coincidence he set up shop there," Ruby added. "There's a lot of energy in Oklahoma, old magic. It sucks in psychics by the bushel."

Dean snorted. "So you believe that a 900 foot tall Jesus told him to build the Tower of Power?"

Ruby poured another cup of coffee, not that _she_ needed it. "No, but he's probably a sensitive, given how many people believe his claims. Nobody has that much natural charisma." She shrugged. "He certainly knows how to run a scam."

"So do I, but I don't go around claiming to be touched by God."

"Ironically, you _were_ touched by God."

"Okay, well, yeah." Dean took the coffee pot away from her. "Technically I was touched by an angel – man, that sounds so....wrong." With a grimace he refreshed his own coffee and Sam's. "But I don't go around suckering old ladies out of their pensions."

"You just hustle pool and sucker drunks out of their paychecks instead."

"Hey, I don't need a lesson in morality from a demon."

"Hello!" Sam raised a hand and snapped his fingers between his two companions. "Can we please get back to business here?" He opened his laptop. "Last time we went to Oklahoma we got tangled up in detours around Sioux City...."

An hour later they had plotted out their route, and their plan of attack once they managed to close in on Lilith. They had no idea what was involved in breaking the next seal. They would have to wait until Lilith made her first move, not an ideal situation by any means. Sam was confident he could track her down before she struck. Ruby was confident Sam was ready to take her on and said so. Dean was only half-heartedly on board, but kept that to himself. There was no other choice. They had to stop Lilith.

Someone else had made another choice, the choice to stop _Sam_.

Uriel's presence in the Denny's parking lot was like that of a brick wall barring their passage. The angel was alone, and when he saw them he shot Dean a congenial smile.

"I told you this wasn't over."

Dean set his jaw. "You son-of-a-bitch. You killed Anna...." Only Sam's hand on his sleeve stopped him from rushing forward. "Why? Just because she wanted to live a little?"

Uriel completely ignored him. "Lilith has broken nearly all the seals, and you...." He tipped his head toward Sam. "Are still consorting with this demon cunt."

"So?" Sam retorted, bristling. "You told me to stop using my abilities, not to keep my dick in my pants."

"You are a perversion in oh-so-many ways," Uriel purred. "And it gives me great pleasure to know the moratorium on your destruction has been lifted."

"What?" Dean looked at Sam sharply, and then back at the angel. "No. No!" He shrugged loose from Sam's grip, confronting Uriel face to face where he could not be ignored. "Castiel said _I_ was to stop him."

Uriel snorted. "And you haven't."

"I need more time."

"You need bigger balls," Uriel remarked derisively. "We already know you'd gladly take another trip on the hellfire bus than let anything happen to baby brother. Why waste time waiting for you to prove it?" The angel cocked his head. A dagger appeared in his hand, a dagger which he held out to Dean with a smile. "Either you do it, Dean, or I will." One lip curled. "And believe me, Sammy would rather it be you."

"Look," Sam interjected. "We're wasting time here. Lilith is in Tulsa and...."

"Lilith _was_ in Tulsa," Uriel boomed. His dark eyes locked onto Sam. "She killed another of my kind there, and was successful in breaking another seal. What makes you think you can stop her?" He turned back to Dean. "Either of you? Two seals remain, only two! There is no more time. Make a choice, Dean, and make it _now_!"

Dean looked at the knife, and then he looked back over his shoulder at Sam. Sam's expression was perfectly neutral, resigned. That more than anything colored Dean's decision. Dean's choice might have been different had Sam reacted in any other way. That Sam was giving up so easily pissed him off.

He turned and met Uriel's eye before taking a step backward, deliberately placing himself between the angel and his brother. No words were exchanged. It was obvious what decision he'd made. Uriel shook his head as he returned the dagger to wherever he'd stashed it.

"And Castiel calls you people intelligent. You've got no more sense than an ape in a zoo." He made a casual flip of his hand. "Get out of the way."

Without warning Dean was lifted off his feet and flung aside as if he weighed nothing. His body struck Ruby's car, caving in the hood and sending a spiderweb of cracks racing across the windshield. Unconscious or simply stunned, he slid limply off the other side to land in a motionless heap on the pavement.

Sam moved in, and Uriel struck, lashing out with a brilliant blast of energy.

"NO!"

Motion caught Uriel's attention, and Sam's. Dean was still down, but they had forgotten about Ruby. Eyes black, blue flames crackling between her fingertips, she lunged in front of Sam and let fly with a blast of her own. Like oil and water the energies swirled together and pushed apart, creating a literal explosion that knocked Sam back into the side of the Impala with enough force to actually rock the heavy car. He heard Ruby scream, and then an abrupt silence.

The demon was gone. Uriel stood alone, disheveled and weaving slightly. Ruby had been a demon and a witch, with power of her own, but she was no match for an archangel. She had only bought Sam time, and not much. He would have to make his move – without hesitation - before the angel could fully recover. Messenger of God or no, this man, this _creature_, had blood on his hands. Anna, and now Ruby, had lost their lives to him.

"Fair game," Sam growled, and was on his feet before Uriel could react.

Sam was taller, physically stronger than the body Uriel had commandeered. He locked on hand around Uriel's wrist and slapped the other down upon the angel's forehead, concentrating on holding the angel down. Uriel froze in place. Sam offered him a sneering smile.

"I've been doing a little research in the time since we last met," he whispered. "I know that spell Anna used to send you packing, and I looked up what Alastair said to Castiel." Tightening his grip, Sam leaned in closer. "You're going home."

"You...." Uriel gasped. "Wouldn't.....dare."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "Watch me."

Rising up from the pavement, every part of his body aching, Dean felt as if he were once again crawling out of his own coffin. He heard Sam's voice but could not make out the words. It wasn't until his head cleared a little more, that he recognized the language as Latin, Latin recited in the low, growling tone Sam used in exorcisms. The words were wrong though. It was no exorcism Dean had ever heard before.

He looked over the hood of Ruby's car to see Uriel standing stiff and unmoving in Sam's grasp. As the words Sam spoke began to rise to crescendo, light appeared to be "leaking" from within the angel's body. Recalling what happened to Anna, Dean instinctively ducked his head into his arms, squeezing his eyes tightly shut.

Sam roared the final phrase over Uriel's cry of pain. Light exploded from the human body the angel occupied, destroying it in the process. Forced to let go from the heat, Sam fell backward to the pavement, immediately curling into a protective ball with his his arms over his head.

"Sam? Sammy?"

Dean knelt beside him. He'd blacked out for a moment. Dazed, he sat up and allowed Dean to look him over. The whites of his eyes were red where tiny blood vessels had burst. Blood ran more freely from his nose. Both palms were burned, the left had already begun to blister.

"I'm okay."

His brother was not convinced. "No you're not! Can you even see?"

"Yes, yes," Sam shook him off and stood up – with a little help. "Dean, come on. Lilith...."

"Screw Lilith. You're not going anywhere for at least a couple days."

"We don't have time!"

Dean ignored him, guiding him toward the Chevy. He opened the door for Sam and then paused, looking back over his shoulder at the empty parking lot. "Where's Ruby?"

Sam's knees buckled beneath him. He practically fell into the car, where he leaned forward with his head pressed to the dashboard. His hands shook despite his best efforts. Dean repeated the question, and this time Sam had the strength to answer.

"She's dead. We're on our own."


	3. Let's Go a Few Rounds

Sam rallied a little when the sun came out from behind heavy cloud cover and filled the room with natural light. Unfortunately the light accentuated how pale he'd become. The dark circles beneath his eyes looked like bruises. Weariness was etched into every feature.

Despite remaining shackled he sat up a bit on pillows Dean had arranged behind his back. He was looking out the window when Dean came back from a trip downstairs. It was the one window that didn't offer a view of the wrecking yard, but one of a vast expanse of prairie dotted with cottonwood trees and tangled mounds of wildflowers. Failure to keep Lucifer at bay would mean such a view would cease to exist.

Dean remembered the views Hell offered. To keep up morale he wasn't sharing this information. He'd been to the kitchen. "I have some food – well, if you can call this food." It was broth, chicken broth.

Sam's voice was barely audible, the tone despondent. "No thanks."

"Come on, Sammy. You have to keep up your strength."

"What for?" Sam turned away from the window. "So I can live like this indefinitely?"

"We'll think of something...."

"What? Think of _what_, Dean?"

Dean set the tray he was holding on the dresser. He was no nursemaid. His bedside manner was shitty even when he forced it. "I don't know, _something_. Cas and Bobby are working on it."

"They're running out of time," Sam said softly. "I'm dying, and I don't know if...."

"You're not dying! Not again."

"Dean," Sam rolled his eyes. "Always with the denial."

"You're not dying. I'm not letting you go, and I'm sure as hell not letting that bastard out to fuck us all up. So shut up and eat." Dean picked up the bowl and started to cross into the circle. He stopped just prior to stepping over the salt line when Sam suddenly stiffened. "What is it?"

What modicum of color remained in Sam's cheeks faded. Corpse-pale he sat up, his fists clenched, eyes widening. "Dean...."

"Sam?"

"Stay....stay back." Sam coughed. Tiny droplets of blood spattered across the sheets he'd pulled up to his waist. "Oh God...." He coughed again, retching. The third time he cried out in pain. "Dean!"

"Bobby!" Dean dropped the bowl back on the tray. Instinct drove him forward, but again he stopped when Sam choked out a word of warning. "BOBBY!"

Bobby appeared in the doorway just in time to prevent Dean from entering the circle, pulling him back by one arm and holding him steady. In the bed Sam jerked at the chains that held his arms. He was doubled up as far as he could go, straining to be able to clutch at his stomach. Mouth open, back heaving, he vomited.

Blood came first, blood black, clotted and foul smelling as if old and rotted. Immediately afterward there swarmed from Sam's open mouth at least a dozen large cockroaches. They scuttled around on the bed before falling to the floor where their bodies hissed and burned inside the pentagram. Each one emitted a high pitched, agonized scream as it died, reminiscent of the cries of the damned in Hell. Dean's face was as pale as his brothers by the time it ended. Sam fell back to the pillows, gasping, while laughter not his own echoed from deep inside his throat.

"Jesus," Bobby whispered. "What was that?"

Dean's voice was low, and hoarse, but he managed, with obvious effort, to disguise how badly he had been shaken with his characteristic flippancy. "I don't think Lucifer approves of your cooking." He pulled free of Bobby's grasp and cautiously stepped over the line, careful not to smudge any of the sigils while traversing the intricate Devil's Trap. There was another that mirrored it drawn upon the ceiling. "Sam?"

Sam moaned. Dean put a hand to his forehead and found it hot to the touch. He was about to withdraw when Sam suddenly moved. Like a striking cobra his arm shot up off the mattress and grabbed Dean's wrist in a grip so strong and so tight Dean had to clamp his teeth together to keep from yelping. Sam's eyes opened.

"Sammy," Dean said quietly. "Let go."

"I can't."

"Sam...."

"I can't!"

Sam's eyes darted from Dean to his own hand. The muscles in his arm contracted and his grip tightened. Beneath his hand the small bones in Dean's wrist began to compress. As they both watched

bruises blossomed beneath Sam's fingertips where they were digging into his brother's flesh.

The fear in Sam's face was very real. "It's not me."

Dean pried at Sam's hand, frantically trying to loosen the grip that was crushing his wrist. "Son-of-a-bitch is gonna break my freakin' arm! Sam, do something!" He shot a look back over his shoulder where movement had caught his eye. "Bobby no! Stay there!"

"Dean...." Sam closed his eyes. Jaws clenched, he shook his head, snarling a command not intended for either Dean, nor Bobby. "Get. Back. Get BACK!"

His hand opened. Dean moved quickly out of reach, rejoining Bobby outside of the circle. Sam collapsed into the pillows, eyes closed, barely breathing. Inside him Lucifer seethed in fury. They were running out of time. The Liar was getting stronger, slowly digging his way to the surface, past the only barriers still holding him captive – Sam Winchester's mind and body.

* * *

Sam sent two demons back to Hell, demons sent to slow him down in his pursuit of Lilith, but once again the she-demon got away from them.

Lilith had freed a wraith, an ancient spirit assigned to guard the gravesite of a prominent figure from a centuries old demon worshiping cult. Without the wraith in place, the cult leader could fulfill his promise of cursing the inhabitants of a local community with the plague. This pestilence was no doubt one of the seals. Dean burned the bones of the cult leader, preventing him from rising, but needed help with the wraith. It was old, and it was mean, and it very nearly killed them both.

Distracted by both the demons and the wraith itself, Sam just missed Lilith. He caught a glimpse of a little girl standing by the cemetery gate just as the last demon sank away back to the depths of Hell. Immediately he shifted gears, leaping over a headstone and rushing for the gate.

Incongruous in a pair of pink jeans and a Hannah Montana t-shirt, Lilith stood out clearly among the stained marble monuments and tangled weeds of the graveyard. She'd once again chosen a blond child, no more than eight years old. Framed on all sides by a wrought iron arch, her bright hair and clothing set up against the backdrop of black and grey, she almost appeared to be glowing. When she realized Sam saw her, she smiled.

Sam was halfway to her before the wraith snatched him off his feet by the collar of his jacket. His cry of protest echoed across the cemetery.

"Nooooo!"

Lilith was gone in an instant.

In blind rage, Sam turned on the wraith and blasted it with nothing more than the psychic power he had come to wield so easily. As if he'd hit it with a blast of rock salt it vanished with a shriek and a puff of grey mist. When it coalesced once again, Dean was there with an iron dagger and a few Latin phrases to bind it back to its watch. Sam staggered to the gate. There was no sign of Lilith. There was nothing but a line of trees, a dark country road and a few patches of low-lying fog.

Too little, too late. Another seal was broken, and Lilith slipped their grasp yet again.

Back at the motel Dean numbed himself with alcohol and whatever painkillers he had found in their first-aid kit. It occurred to him to wonder if he should be drinking on top of the drugs, but once needle found flesh he decided he didn't care. Sam apparently did, and took the bottle away from him before he put himself in a coma. Dean craned his head back in an attempt to see what his brother was doing. It hurt like a mother.

"Hold still." Sam pushed Dean's head away. "You're not helping."

A trio of deep gashes gaped over Dean's left shoulder blade. Sam's stitches were small and neat, designed to leave as little scarring as possible, but they also required him to be slow and meticulous. Dean mumbled something about sadism. If Dean had been considered a nasty-ass torturer in Hell, Sam would give Alastair a run for his money.

The sound of their motel door opening made Dean flinch and turn – or start too – a pinch of the needle and Sam's open-handed smack to the back of his head made him abort the gesture. Whoever had just invaded their space must not have posed any danger. Sam continued stitching as he addressed their visitor.

"Don't you people ever knock?"

"There's only one seal remaining," Castiel said. He shut the door behind him with a click.

"Or answer direct questions?" Sam muttered.

"You know," Dean replied. "I don't think you and your feathered buddies are trying very hard. I didn't see any member of the calvary on this last charge. It was just us."

"We're down by a few members," the angel said, with no little sarcasm. "Uriel was an asset."

"Uriel was an _ass,_" Sam corrected.

"I'm not denying that." Castiel came over to the bed where the brothers were sitting. Reaching over Sam's arm he moved the younger Winchester hands out of the way. Dean's half-stitched wounds healed beneath the angel's fingertips. "But you still had no right to do what you did Sam." There was irony in the fact Castiel did not cast a reflection in the mirrored vanity behind him, but neither brother noticed.

"He was trying to kill me."

"You should have let him." The angel's expression was honest, direct and unflinchingly cool.

Sam looked away. Without replying he busied himself with tidying up, throwing away the unused suture, cleaning the needle in alcohol, packing up the first aid kit once again. Dean stood up to examine Castiel's handiwork in the mirror. There was no sign that there had ever been anything marring his shoulder.

"Neat trick,." he murmured.

"It only works on you. Healing is not my primary function." Castiel sighed. "Leftovers from a previous assignment."

"Ah," Dean said uneasily. "Right." He shrugged into his shirt. "So should we be trembling in our boots here, Cas? You planning on taking out my brother?"

"No." The angel met Sam's eye. "I think I'd go the way of Uriel if I tried." He looked away from Sam toward Dean. "I'm here to implore _you_ to do it."

"I don't think so."

From across the room Sam said, "Dean..."

Startled, Dean turned to his brother. "No."

"Maybe we should consider...."

"No! Look, we are getting close to Lilith every day. We almost had her this time."

"We've almost had her a_ million_ times, Dean, and there's only one more chance. We have to start seriously looking at other options!" Sam stood up. "Dean. Come on! Stop lying to yourself!"

"I'm not sending you to Hell, Sam! I'm not!" Dean made an abrupt cutting gesture with his hands as he turned his back on both Sam and Castiel. "Call me a coward, call me an idiot, I don't care. I know what Hell is. I know what they'll do to you and I. Can't...." He stopped, shaking his head, biting back tears. "You don't belong there, Sammy."

"And you can't go in his place, if that's what you're thinking." Castiel said quietly. "Dean we're not talking about Sam anymore. We're talking about Satan. The Liar. The Devil himself."

"There's one more seal...."

"And Lilith is on her way to it right now!" Sam banged a fist on the top of a nearby table. "Dammit!"

Dean sat down heavily on one of the beds. "We'll go after her. We'll catch her and stop her, and if we don't....if we can't....then...." He drew a shaking breath. "Then I'll do it."

"By then it will be too late." Castiel crossed his arms over his chest. "Even if Lilith breaks the last seal, Lucifer still has to get free of Sam. You kill him after that seal is broken and you'll just be throwing the doors wide open. It has to be now or never, Dean."

Dean was adamant, rising he shouted, "Then it will be never!"

Sam threw the first aid kit down on the table and stalked over to his duffel, put in motion by his brother's obvious indecision, possibly angered by it. They all knew what had to be done. Someone just had to take the initiative. When the pearl handled 9mm emerged from beneath a t-shirt, Dean was already moving. By the time Sam checked the clip and cocked the hammer, Dean had vaulted over the bed and lunged for his arm. Had his leap been a nanosecond slower and it would have been all over right there and then.

His aim skewed by Dean's assault, Sam fired a shot into the ceiling. He shoved Dean away. Dean countered by coming right back with a swift jab of his elbow. The gun went off again, just missing Dean's right ear. Sam's aim may have been thwarted, but Dean's wasn't. His elbow connected, and Sam dropped to the floor like a rock, the gun falling from his limp fingers to the worn carpet.

Dean bounced back, rubbing his elbow. "Damn the hard-headed son-of-a-bitch!" He held out his good arm and stopped Castiel from moving any closer. "Oh no you don't!"

Castiel froze, frowning. "Sam isn't the hard headed one."

"Shut up." Dean sighed. After a pause he continued. "Let me get this straight. If the seals are broken, Lucifer doesn't automatically get let loose?"

"No. He'll still be weakened from captivity. If he's strong enough, Sam can hold him back – for a short time."

"So technically speaking, if we can keep him contained, we can stop him from bringing Hell on Earth." Groping under the bed, Dean came up with Sam's gun and removed the clips. "Can the seals be _re_-sealed?"

"Not resealed," Castiel said quietly. "But new ones can be created after Lucifer is sent back to Hell."

"Then we'll just have to figure out a way to send him back to Hell - without killing my brother." Dean grabbed Sam's arm and started to haul him up off the floor. "Give me a hand, will ya, and don't get any ideas."

"You've got a plan?"

"No." Dean grunted, lifting Sam, with Castiel's help, onto the bed. "Not yet."

Catiel rolled his eyes. "Not yet."

"Hey, I'm workin' on it." Dean patted Sam's booted foot. "Meanwhile, I'm going to make sure nobody else gets hurt- especially him, and me."


	4. Hide and Seek

"I may have something," Bobby said. He turned the dusty tome he'd been reading around so that both Dean and Castiel could see it. "Lucifer isn't your typical demon, but he can be exorcised. It's been centuries since he was locked up for good, but before that he did have the ability to wriggle out of Hell, just like the demons we deal with today. Knowing that, the Church developed a very specific exorcism for ousting him from a living host." Bobby shrugged. "For lessor demons that rite is overkill, and it eventually fell out of use. They just didn't need it anymore after Lucifer was no longer an issue."

"How is that going help us?" Castiel skimmed through the rite as it was written, easily able to read and understand the ancient text. "It releases him. Sam's death will accomplish the same thing."

"We don't want Sam to die," Dean retorted.

Castiel threw up his hands in a purely human gesture of frustration. "What part of this don't you people understand? Sam _will_ die, we'll _all _die, if Lucifer is set free!"

"Not if we can keep him locked up in one place," Bobby said, throwing a glance at Dean.

Dean raised a brow. "The panic room."

Bobby nodded. "It will hold him for a while."

"A while?" Dean shook his head. "Bobby...."

"A while," Bobby insisted. "Until Sam can send him back to Hell."

No one said anything. In the hearth behind Bobby's desk, a fire popped and crackled. A storm had rolled in, and a cold wind rattled the windows and whistled eerily through the gap beneath the front door. If one were standing outside on the porch one could hear a metallic creak as towers of junked cars swayed precariously in the gale. From a distant part of the house the wind was echoed by a moaning cry. It was a cry of anger, frustration, and pain – incoherent and primal. What followed was a sob, and a pitiful, whimpering call that _could_ be understood.

"_Dean? Dean....DEAN!"_

Dean abruptly exited, leaving Castiel and Bobby alone to finish the discussion.

"You're assuming," Castiel said softly. "Sam will actually survive the exorcism. That in itself is a large assumption. Assuming he survives _and_ has strength left to send Lucifer back to Hell is complete farce."

Bobby tipped back his hat and peered out at the angel from beneath the battered brim. His eyes were cool, his gaze direct. He still had a bone to pick with Castiel, and after seeing the angel in his human guise, looking like a young version of bumbling detective Columbo, the old Hunter was no longer quite as intimidated by him.

"Son," he said. "You got a better idea?"

"No," the angel admitted.

"Then God forgive me – shut your pie hole."

* * *

Dean handcuffed Sam to the Impala's interior door handle and made sure no weapons, poison, or random sharp pointy objects were within his brother's reach. When Sam regained his senses he sat up and jiggled the cuffs experimentally before settling into a sullen, grouchy silence. Apparently having a suicide attempt foiled had gotten his panties in a wad up his ass.

"You okay?" Dean asked finally. The glassy stare and the scowl had gotten to him. "Sam?"

"You should have let me do it."

"No, I shouldn't have let you do it."

"I can feel him," Sam said quietly. "The closer she gets to the final seal...."

"We'll get her Sammy, I promise."

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Dean." With a sigh, Sam turned away. "I've been there, done that. It just makes it hurt more in the end."

They said no more. Sam stared out the window. Dean concentrated on driving. They were heading East, back to South Dakota where Bobby was waiting for their arrival. In the distance a bright sunny day was dawning over the horizon. Dean turned on his music. It did not distract him from his worries. It also failed to get a rise out of Sam as it once might have. Had they a psychic in the back seat he or she would have picked up only exhaustion and fear, fear that their utter, final defeat was just around the corner.

Dean drove on though the prairie, weaving the Chevy around curving rural roads. Rolling down the window he sucked in a deep breath of fresh, warm air, the first hint of Spring. Only a month ago he'd hit an age milestone; he'd turned thirty. Sometimes, however, when he allowed himself to think about it, he tacked on an additional forty years. Dean didn't think those extra forty years showed. Sometimes they did. Sam saw it. Anyone close to him would have seen it.

They showed during the quiet moments when he seemed to be looking elsewhere, remembering the past, contemplating the future. Before Hell Dean rarely experienced such moments. To call him a coward was unfair. Cautious, yes, but not cowardly. He'd lived a lifetime of horrors. Day and night for forty years his life had been centered around pain and suffering, both giving and taking. Sometimes he was afraid it had become a habit, and rising from the grave had been akin to quitting cold turkey. He wasn't anxious to jump back into anything, afraid of the monster that might be lurking behind the corner.

Abruptly, not far from the long drive leading to Singer's Salvage, Dean reached over and switched off the radio. "Sam."

"Yeah."

"If I have to, I will. You know that don't you?"

Sam was quiet for a moment before he answered. "There's only one seal left, Dean," he said softly.

"I know."

"We don't always get advance notice...."

"Yeah, well Cas says even if the seal is broken, there's still time to gank the bastard. He's got to get through you."

Sam shifted his weight in his seat and sighed. "That's real reassuring."

"I don't know what else to say, Sam," Dean said quietly. His resolute stare remained trained on the road ahead. "I don't know what else to _think_. This situation is crap in every direction. Look, we'll hook up with Bobby and figure out what to do. If we have to chase Lilith all over the fucking planet, we'll get her, okay?"

After a pause, Sam said, "What if she's in Australia?"

"Oh, well in that case I'll just shoot you."

"I don't believe you, Dean. You've literally been to Hell and back and you're _still_ afraid of flying?"

"You kill demons with your mind and have the Devil himself riding shotgun inside you but you're _still_ afraid of clowns?"

Sam frowned. "Clowns are scary-ass bastards with evil little agendas."

"And big floppy shoes."

"Shut up."

Dean piloted the Impala off of the main highway and down a long, narrow dirt track. The route was as familiar and comfortable as their banter, but the uneven ruts in the road now spoke of age and neglect, and beneath their light-hearted exchange there existed an air of finality. Their attempt to reclaim normalcy fell short somehow, felt sour. Something had been lost that they just couldn't get back.

"You know," Dean said. "That demon in Ohio, Casey – she and Father Gil were getting it on."

"Okay, random. What does that have to do with clowns?"

"What? No, no...forget the clowns. I'm talking about Casey and the Priest – well he wasn't really a priest, obviously...."

Sam rested his head on the window and fiddled with the handcuffs in an attempt to make them at least a bit more comfortable. "Okay. Casey and Gil...." he prompted.

"They were...friends. They stuck together you know, even in Hell." Dean shifted his hands around, nervously changing their position on the steering wheel. "I....I saw stuff....souls....people. ...not many but...." He muttered a curse under his breath. "What I'm trying to say, Sammy is that if....if it comes to that, I'm not letting you go alone. I'll have your back. I'll always have your back, no matter what happens. You understand what I'm saying?"

"Dean.....don't."

"I've been there. I was there a long time. I know how the system works? I can't _promise_ I can protect you down there, but I'll do whatever I can do. I swear, Sam. Remember that."

"Dean...."

"Dude, come on just let me...." Dean stopped abruptly, staring at a point just beyond the Impala's long hood. "Sam."

"Yeah." Sam sat up straighter in his seat. "I see her."

A woman stood at the gate of Singer Salvage, a rare and unusual sight, especially since Bobby – by way of the Winchesters – had become so deeply involved in the nasty goings-on between Heaven and Hell. The loner had become even more of a loner, suspicious of anyone who ventured into his territory. If he had a visitor he knew, he would have called and given the boys a heads-up.

Dean slowed the car to a stop. Without taking his eyes off the woman he reached into his pocket and handed Sam the keys to the handcuffs. "I have a bad feeling about this."

"Uh-huh," Sam quickly freed himself.

The woman stood about four yards in front of the Chevy's hood, and as the brothers exited the car they could see that they had misjudged her age. Her clothes, subtly mirroring their own, made her appear older. A loose denim shirt over a tee and jeans hid the lack of definition to her body, and the battered workboots she wore made her slightly taller. Her true age was no more than thirteen or fourteen.

There was blood on her shirt and a pout on her face.

"I asked Bobby to play with me but he wouldn't." She waved one hand toward the wrecking yard, where the junked cars created a maze of steel stretching out for at least three acres around Bobby's house. "Isn't this just the best place for hide and seek?" When she turned back around she was grinning. "Now you're here! This is great! You can be it."

"Lilith," Sam breathed.

The girl's eyes flashed white and she laughed. An instant later she was off and running into the wrecking yard as fast as she could go. "Catch me if you can!"

Sam gave Dean a shove before taking off in pursuit. "Go! Check on Bobby!"

"Are you kidding?" Stride for stride Dean followed. "I'm not leaving you alone with her!"

They both came to a stop.

"She can't hurt me!" Sam insisted. "Whatever she's up to, it has something to do with the last seal!"

"Exactly, and I'm not leaving you out there alone!"

"Bobby…."

"Bobby is…" There was no time for grief. It could come later. "You saw the blood, you heard what she said. Bobby's dead, Sam." Drawing Ruby's knife, Dean started out into the maze of dead cars. "Stay with me."

"No! We'll cover more ground if we…."

Dean turned around grabbed Sam by the front of his jacket. "I said no!"

Angrily, Sam shook him off and turned away. "We're wasting time with this." He broke into a jog. "Come on!"

They quickly came to a crossroad, a place where two of the wide aisles intersected with tall stacks of crushed car bodies at three corners, and a pile of discarded hubcaps at another. A crudely painted sign pointed scavengers toward different sections of the yard containing car parts from various eras. Under different circumstances Sam might have found it funny that Dean automatically chose the direction of _Fenders and Doors 1965-71._

Sam yanked him back toward _Carbs and Camshafts_ 1970-76. "This way."

"How do you know?"

"I just know."

A rattle and a crash from somewhere ahead of them confirmed Sam's suspicions. Their pace quickened when they rounded another corner just in time to see Lilith slip through a gap between two smashed pick-ups. Dean immediately followed, struggling through the small space nearly all the way to the other side before realizing Sam couldn't follow. Being just a few inches taller and broader made all the difference.

"Go around!" Dean jerked his pantleg free from a snag and stumbled back into the dusty aisle. He saw Lilith pause at the end of the row, look back over her shoulder, and duck around the corner. "Sam!"

Getting separated from Sam was the last thing Dean wanted to do. As he took after Lilith he too looked back over his shoulder, cursing when he saw Sam had not gone around to the end of the row, but had obviously headed off in another direction. Dean hesitated between going after Sam, or continuing after Lilith. Lilith was the most logical choice. He growled as he followed the course the she-demon had set.

"What the hell game are you really playing?"

Dean had a score to settle with Lilith. Her hands bore more than just his own blood, but also that of countless innocent people, and now Bobby too. He'd send her back to the Pit for that alone, and would be sorely tempted to follow her back down to torture her himself. There were things Alastair had taught him, foul, hateful things, that he could do to make it most satisfying. For Lilith he would gladly free the monster. First, however, she had to be located and killed.

The wind had picked up, making the piles of junk creak and clatter. Sound carried in odd ways, sometimes echoing, sometimes falling flat; it was hard to determine the direction from which it came. Dean paused frequently to listen. If Lilith turned the tables and came after him he would have little defense against her.

Girlish laughter attracted his attention to the next row over. There were no shortcuts through the wrecks this time; he had to run swiftly to the end of his row, crouched low, knife ready. If Lilith had just the slightest opening she would kill him. He had to be quick and decisive.

At the end of the row he stopped. Indistinct voices lured him around the corner. There was no one there. They had moved already, or were never there in the first place. The wind was playing tricks on him.

There. A sound. His name. Sam's voice.

Lilith had somehow circled back around through the maze to where it opened up into a large lot near the garage. This was where Dean had rebuilt his car, where Bobby had once chased John Winchester off his property with a shotgun. Now, as Dean crouched down behind the burned out carcass of a battered SUV, it was the place where Sam had finally cornered Lilith.

She stood in front of the SUV, holding a small wooden box in her hand. Sam faced her but had not made any move on her. Whatever was staying his hand was of no concern to Dean. He assessed the situation in a single glance, and in a heartbeat he began to move into action. Coming around the SUV he clamped one hand down over the box, and curled his arm around Lilith's throat.

"Good-bye, bitch."

"DEAN!!! NO!!!"

The sound of Bobby's living voice made him falter, but Ruby's knife was sharp and easily sliced through the young girl's throat. There was no resistance. Lilith rolled her head back to look up at her killer with her eyes gone white and her lips stained with blood - lips curled in a smile. Dean could not hear her voice, but he could make out the words she mouthed to him as she died.

"_The last seal...."_

Dean let the body fall from his arms, his gaze automatically going to the box in his hand. It was nothing but an old cigar box, battered and stained and completely empty. Puzzled he looked to Bobby for explanation. The horrified expression on the old Hunter's face brought him up short. The fear in Sam's voice made him realize his error.

"Oh God, Dean....she duped us. She duped us!"

"It was a trick?" Dean frowned, looking down at the body at his feet. "She _wanted_ me to kill her?"

"The last seal. It was a sacrifice." Bobby whispered, his voice trembling. "Dean. What have you done?"

"What? I don't...."

Dark clouds began spilling in overhead. The wind kicked up to gale force, tugging their clothes taut against their bodies, making them stagger on their feet. Bobby clamped a hand down on his hat. Whatever Dean was going to say was sucked away with his breath. Behind them Sam stood with arms outstretched, feet spread, his body arched back into the wind. Dust and debris swirled around him in miniature whirlwinds. His hair whipped his cheeks. Dean shouted his name but there was no response, only a wide-eyed, terrified stare.

"SAM!"

A guttural scream, hoarse and inhuman played counterpoint to the wind. Sam's chest began to expand outward as his body bent back even further. The crack of bones breaking sounded like gunshots. Sam's screams became shrieks of pain. For a moment two separate and distinct voices could be heard issuing from Sam's throat, one very clearly his own, and the other the roar of a beast. Dean started to go to him, but never made it. A strong hand grabbed him and threw him to the ground, a hand whose grasp he had felt once before.

"Close your eyes!" Castiel shouted.

"Don't..." Dean tried to rise again, and again Castiel thrust him aside. Struggling in the dirt, battered by the wind, Dean reached out after the angel who was making a rush at Sam. "Don't kill him! Cas! NO!"

Bobby tackled him before he could rise, pinning Dean down under his weight. Both of them ducked their heads as a brilliant light erupted around Castiel's human form, spreading outward to engulf the entire yard, swallowing Sam's writhing body. The bestial voice, once raised in triumph, became filled with fury, cursing the angel for his interference. It grew fainter as the light brightened, until all that could be heard was Sam's voice crying out in pain.

When the light faded, the wind died, and the ominous clouds above dissolved into a gentle, soothing rain shower. Castiel knelt in the mud, looking ragged and worn, his hair and clothes rain sodden and dirty. He raised a shaking hand to wipe blood from his nose, looking more human than one of God's celestial warriors. On his hands and knees before the angel, Sam coughed violently and spat blood out into the dirt before slowly straightening with a gasp. He swayed, clutching one hand to his side.

The final scene played out like the tragedy of two years earlier. A chilling sense of deja vu enveloped them as Dean skidded to his knees in front of his brother and grasped Sam's face in his hands, holding him steady. This time, however, the end had been re-written....

And not necessarily for the better.

Soaked to the bone from the chilling rain, and possibly fighting off shock, Sam managed to spill a few words past his chattering teeth.

"Too late," he whispered, and then passed out in Dean's arms.


	5. The Stand

Castiel was clearly exhausted by the time they managed to get Sam down to the panic room. The angel had been feeding the younger Winchester what strength he could offer but like Sam, the effort of keeping Lucifer contained was starting to wear him down. Castiel said angels could be destroyed, and Dean had seen Sam take out Uriel. If that alone wasn't convincing enough, Castiel's weariness told the rest of the tale. His light was growing dim.

Dim or not, Lucifer could still sense the angel's presence and reacted accordingly, abusing Sam both physically and mentally in his efforts to break free. All the way down the stairs Sam had twitched and moaned and begged for mercy.

"He is...abhorrent," Castiel said quietly, watching as Sam sat slumped in the chair to which he'd been bound. "Ugly. Cruel. Take what you witnessed in Hell and multiply it by a thousand, Dean. That's what Sam's going through, all inside his head." He rubbed his own temple uneasily. "But your brother is stubborn, and far stronger than anyone realized. I could not have predicted him lasting this long against the Liar."

"Nice to hear you give Sammy some credit for a change."

"There was a time when you doubted him yourself."

Dean cast a worried glance at his brother. "And I shouldn't have," he said softly.

They'd reinforced the Devil's Trap and other protections the panic room offered, placing Sam at the center of the space in a chair made of iron and oak. The shackles bound him at wrists and ankles. Already the shirt they'd put on him was soaked with sweat, clinging to his body like a second skin and revealing the unnerving way the physical presence inside him moved about its prison. He was conscious but barely responsive.

"Have you got my back with Bobby?" Dean asked, turning around to the angel once more. "I don't want him in here when this goes down."

"He won't be going anywhere for at least twenty-four hours."

"Neat little whammy you got there. You want to share how you do it?" At Castiel's puzzled look, Dean attempted to elaborate. "The one finger light's out thing that....you....nevermind." He waved the angel away. "When you come back, don't forget the book. Bobby might have a photographic memory, but I don't."

Uriel might have grumbled something about not being a monkey's messenger boy, but Castiel simply turned and left the room. He went with some haste, suggesting that Lucifer's presence made him as uncomfortable as his made Lucifer. It would get worse before it got better. Castiel's help was still required. If they could get Lucifer out of Sam, they would have to keep him under wraps indefinitely, or until Sam could send him back.

"This," Bobby had intoned gravely. "Is a suck-ass plan."

Dean promptly reminded him that it had been Bobby's plan in the first place.

"Yeah," Bobby retorted. "But that don't mean it doesn't suck. It's weak, Dean, real weak."

Weak, but all they had to go with, and the brothers Winchester had been able to pull their asses out of some pretty tight spots before. Sure, the whole escape from Hell thing was a result of divine intervention, but....

A soft moan from Sam caught Dean's attention. He turned....

The door to the panic room slammed shut behind him.

Dean heard the lock spin and Castiel's shout from the other side of the door. It could have been a warning, or the angel could have been in trouble, Dean couldn't tell. A scrambling sound coupled with a series of dull thuds lent support to the immediate assumption that whatever was happening couldn't be good. He tried the handle and was not surprised that it would not turn.

"Castiel? Bobby!"

Uneasily, Dean turned to face the pentagram. The hair was standing up on the back of his neck, although Sam had not moved. He remained shackled to the chair, head bowed, perfectly still and quiet. It was something in the air that was making Dean uncomfortable. He felt smothered and sticky, claustrophobic, as if he were trapped inside an oven. The feeling was, regrettably, something he'd experienced before.

His eyes narrowed. Sam hadn't moved, but something inside him was clearly growing more active.

"You son-of-a-bitch." Dean stalked to the very edge of the pentagram, stopping just short of crossing the lines. "Sammy. Sam, open the door. Don't let him do this."

There was a pause. Sam stirred, moaning. His hands tugged against the shackles. A moment later he slowly raised his head, moving in a jerky, uneven manner, like a puppet on a string. His mouth hung slack, and then closed with a snap of his teeth. When his eyes opened they fixated upon Dean, pinning him where he stood, terrifying him with their all-too-familiar appearance. Familiar, he corrected to himself, but not entirely the same as what he remembered. These eyes were baleful yellow, but slitted, reptilian and unblinking save for the flickering flash of a nictating membrane at each corner.

What chilled Dean to the bone was not those eyes, but the voice he heard coming from his brother's mouth. It was as if every nightmarish thing imaginable had come together in one place. Low and hoarse, it went through him like a sword thrust.

"Free me."

Two words of command, powerful, and almost impossible to ignore – almost. Dean rolled his shoulders, bracing himself against the pull of those words, and what would inevitably follow. "No," he said. "I don't think so."

Lucifer thrust his head forward, hissing, and Dean found himself being slammed against the wall. Had he struck the door the protruding locking mechanism would have shattered his spine and left him paralyzed if not dead. Still, the solid steel wall was bad enough. It winded him. The chilling voice harmonized with the ringing in his ears.

"Free me!"

Pushing himself back to his feet, Dean gulped air as he returned to the edge of the pentagram. "I'll free you. I'll send you back to Hell you son-of-a-bitch."

Laughter was the first response, the second was a snarl. "Kill you. Kill_ you!_"

"Bring it on." Dean challenged. "I don't think you can. You can't even get out a full sentence."

A snarl and a gasp, and Lucifer retreated. Sam's eyes became his own again, and so did his voice, weak and panting. "Dean, I can't...I can't stop...." His expression was beseeching. "Kill me."

"Sam." Shifting his weight back and forth, Dean resisted the temptation to cross the line. "Dammit. Sammy, I don't have the book. I don't have the exorcism!"

Feverishly, Sam twisted his hands in the shackles, shaking his head back and forth. "No. No ex....no. Kill me...Dean...it's...kill me _please_!"

"No. We're going to send him back. You're going to send him back. But I need the ritual! Open the door!"

"Can't.....not....that....Cas is..."

"Sam? Cas is what?"

Dean froze, watching Sam's facial features twist, his posture morphing into something hunched-backed and crooked. His body language spoke of an animal poised to attack and kill its prey. Yellow eyes smoldered in a face warped just far enough from the norm to be intensely disturbing. Dean stood mesmerized by those eyes as, with clenched fists, Lucifer strained against the shackles holding him bound to the chair.

Wood creaked and steel screeched, both straining to the breaking point. Dean barely had time to flinch before he found himself staring into the snarling face of the Devil, just inches from his own, separated only by a thin line of paint, and salt. The king demon had freed himself from the shackles, but could not leave the Devil's Trap. He settled with spitting, which, had it connected with Dean instead of the floor, would have burned like acid.

"Free me, NOW!" Lucifer paced the edge of the pentagram like a caged lion, his eyes never leaving Dean for a second. "Human vermin, I'll exterminate you all."

"Shit," Dean stepped back a pace. A full sentence meant Sam was weakening further. "I got news for you buddy, you'll never leave this room."

An out-thrust hand sent Dean slamming into the wall again. Again he dragged himself back to his feet and over to the pentagram. Lucifer snarled and spat. Dean stood resolute.

"How very Linda Blair of you," he said, somewhat breathlessly. "I think I much prefer the movie version."

"I'll tear you apart."

"Eh, been there, done that with your friend Alastair."

"That was an appetizer," Satan's snarl became a salacious leer. "You haven't even begun to taste real pain, Dean. You, your brother, all your little friends....you won't be spared. You won't be like the others."

Dean frowned. "What others?"

Lucifer stopped pacing, instead slowly backing away to reclaim the chair. "Croatoan," he hissed, yellow eyes narrowing. "Croatoan."

* * *

"I think the shackles are overkill," Dean remarked. "We've got the Devil's Trap, the salt, every demon repellent known to man and then some. We've got Cas...."

"It won't hold him," Sam said dully. "Nothing can now that the seals are broken." He had come around nearly twenty-four hours after Castiel put him down, sporting a trio of cracked ribs and bruises that made it look like he'd gone ten rounds with George Foreman – George Foreman in his pre-grilling days. "There's no such thing as overkill, Dean. This isn't a demon."

Dean sat on the end of the bed. "So far I'm not impressed."

"It's only a matter of time. He's weak after being imprisoned, and Castiel's wounded him. If it weren't for that, Dean, I couldn't hold him back."

"Him. Lucifer. Sam, how do we know...."

Sam fixed him with a stern look. "I know," he said sharply. "I can feel it." His lip curled in disgust. "I can hear him whispering. I can see things...."

"What things?" Dean prompted softly, watching as Sam's eyes grew vague, distant, as if he were looking beyond what he saw before him. "Sammy?"

"Hell," Sam's eyes refocused, but his gaze was downcast. "I'm sorry," he whispered, barely audible. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For what happened to you," Raising his head, Sam revealed tears he hadn't shed in more than a year, a year in which he'd become hardened to such emotions, in part due to the parasite he carried, in part to his own foolishness. "For what I've done. I just thought....I thought I was doing the right thing, saving people. I should have let them go, used the knife, let them die. Instead they have to live through this...."

"We'll stop it." Dean stood up and gripped the bed frame with both hands. "We'll beat him. It's just another monster, another demon. We'll send him back. Hell won't rise...."

"No, Hell won't rise." Sam interrupted. His eyes grew distant once again, his voice taking on an odd rhythm, almost as if he were reading from a script. "I know that now. It's the blood. It's Roanoke and River Grove. He can turn humans without sending their souls to Hell. They're living demons, turned inside their own bodies...."

"What? Sam..."

"I can see it, Dean. I can see the world he's going to create, a world of chaos. Anyone who opposes him will be sent to Hell, and everyone who remains will be turned, infected by the demon blood. Nobody can stop him." A thin trickle of blood began to run from Sam's nose. "I can see it. There will be nothing but pain and suffering in a world turned upside-down!"

"Sammy." Quickly, Dean crossed around the foot of the bed to his brother's side. "Sam!"

Sam remained focused on what only he could see. "It's _his_ blood in me, in all of Azazel's children. We're special, different from the others. I'm special. I'm his, I 'll always be his."

His voice lowered, his whisper was soft and sibilant and made Dean break out in goose pimples.

"_Father...."_

Seconds later Sam's body began to convulse violently, jerking against the shackles, twisting in the sheets. Everything in the room that was lying loose – a mug, Sam's watch, a book and an empty plastic bottle – lifted from where they sat and flung themselves through the air. Dean ducked as a framed photograph nearly took off his ear. A hand at his collar jerked him outside the pentagram. He heard Bobby's voice reciting words in a language far older than Latin.

The convulsions immediately subsided. Sam lay gasping for breath upon the bed, blood now flowing freely from both his nose and ears. Dean shook free of Bobby and re-entered the circle. Sam rolled his eyes to look at his brother pleadingly.

"Kill me," he gasped. "Dean....you promised!"


	6. Allow Me to Introduce Myself

"You'll die here," Lucifer said conversationally. "You, and your brother. You'll die, and I will be free. The others will come and devour your _angel_." The last word was spat with undisguised disgust.

Dean crossed his arms over his chest. "They'll be sorry. Castiel is real pithy."

"Sam's already dying," Lucifer taunted. "Rotting, from the inside out. Is that what you want, Dean? You want him to suffer?" There was laughter in his voice. "And he's suffering. Very, very, very much."

Having no reply to this, Dean turned his attention to the door. "What are you afraid of?" he asked, half to his captive, half to himself He wasn't really sure who exactly played the captive, himself or Lucifer. "Cas? Bobby's exorcism?"

"I fear not God's little pigeon, and I'm no _demon_," Lucifer suddenly rose to his feet and stalked to the edge of the circle. His voice was cold as if he'd been insulted. "I have my own form."

Dean had noted Lucifer could walk upon the inner lines of the pentagram, those that made up the central star and the sigils penned around it, but not the outer lines, the circle enclosing all the rest. Where he did touch the lines his bare feet had been burned. The soles were now raw and blistered. He left bloody footprints in his wake as he paced back and forth.

"You have Sam's meat," Dean remarked. "So if you aren't a demon, that makes you a parasite. A worm."

Lucifer snarled. "A worm, and you nothing but a maggot. I see how you are in Hell - pink, naked, squirming and squealing like pigs in the muck. This," Nails suddenly grown long and curved, cut through the cloth of Sam's shirt, drawing blood upon his chest. "Means nothing to me."

"Then why keep it? Let him go." Dean noted the hesitation. "You can't, can you?"

Breath reeking of sulfur, Lucifer swiftly confronted Dean at the edge of the circle once again, rising up to Sam's full height as if to intimidate his enemy. Dean could feel his throat tightening, his air cut off as an invisible hand wrapped itself around his neck. With all his strength he pulled against that steely grip until he broke free, gasping. He felt the burning sting of scratches, and when he touched his neck he found he was bleeding.

"Why don't you just kill me now?" Circling around the pentagram while Lucifer watched warily, Dean went to Bobby's desk and leaned up against it, partially to disguise the sudden weakness in his knees. "Save yourself the wait. I'll be dead, Sam's already dying...." He returned the wary look, noting that once again Lucifer did not respond to him. "You're bluffing," he concluded quietly.

Abruptly Lucifer went down, submerging once again within his host and leaving Sam to fall weakly to the floor. Dean started, but held back the urge to move, engage the automatic reflex he had toward helping his brother. Sam struggled to regain his feet but failed. He remained on his knees, half bent at the waist, holding himself up by his knuckles. When he looked up at Dean his face was beaded in sweat, his eyes glazed with pain. It took everything Dean had to stay put. Lucifer had retreated, but was obviously still in control. Breaking the circle would not be a good idea.

Sam opened his mouth to speak but only a choking gasp escaped him. Another gasp, a strangled breath, and it became clear he was choking in earnest. His eyes went wide as his hands went to his throat. Dean's stomach turned as he remembered the cockroaches. This time, however, Sam wasn't retching, he couldn't draw a breath.

"Sammy?" Dean stood up, alarmed as Sam's lips began to turn blue. "Sam!"

From Sam's wide open mouth there first came a dark, viscous liquid that Dean equated to ectoplasm. It poured over Sam's tongue and down his chin, and where it touched the ground it sizzled and hissed, filling the room with the horrid stench of sulfur. Thick black smoke followed – a familiar sight to those who hunted demons. It too stunk of rotten eggs, but also of rotting flesh.

This was no demon. As Dean watched, the streaming goo and smoke began to coalesce into sticky strands that seemed to literally _crawl_ out of Sam's gullet. More and more began emerging, growing thicker and more animated, crowding out through Sam's mouth, his nose, and the corners of his eyes. Like the spoors of some sort of fungus they adhered to his skin, spreading across his face and down his shoulders while those continuing to spill forth flailed around in the air as if searching for someone else to infect.

Dean pushed away from the desk but headed away from the pentagram, frantically searching the room for something he could use as a weapon. They'd taken all the true weapons out before they brought Sam down, least their own defenses be used against them. The racks where once Bobby had stored a virtual armory of guns, blades and other weapons were empty. There was no more salt and he didn't dare take any from the circle. His flask of holy water was in his coat pocket but his coat was on the other side of the door.

The only weapon Dean had was his pistol, tucked into his belt at the small of his back. He pulled it out and turned, aiming at Sam's head where, much to his horror, blood slicked fingers had begun to push through his brother's mouth. They were long, clawed, fingers, wriggling like the legs of an insect struggling to free itself from its cocoon. The black strands wrapped around the fingers as if caressing them, or attempting to pull them free, for the fingers quickly became a hand, and then a wrist.

"Jesus!" Dean's hand shook as he took aim. He did not, however, have to fire.

The arm emerged halfway to the elbow before its progress suddenly stopped. Sam's body shuddered, and the horrible emergence was aborted. The arm withdrew immediately, followed quickly by everything else, all of it vanishing back down Sam's throat just as if it had been sucked up by a vacuum. Seconds later Sam fell back with a shuddering gasp, hitting the floor with a painful smacking sound. His back arched and rolled, his joints creaking and popping as his body moved in an utterly unnatural manner – as if he had suddenly been rendered boneless. A pair of hands appeared, outlined against Sam's back. Claws curled, stretching the skin and the cloth of his shirt outward, and then disappeared.

Dean stood very still. He lowered the gun, but kept his finger on the trigger. His voice was low, and ever-so-slightly unsteady. "It wasn't you who locked us in here. It was Sam," he said. "Wasn't it?"

Muffled laughter was Lucifer's response. He pushed himself up from the floor, hissing like the serpent whose form he had once taken. Sam's sweat-soaked hair clung eerily to his face, like the black tendrils that had been there a moment before. Both eyes were slowly purpling in a pair of wicked shiners, his lips were cracked and split, and once again his nose was bleeding.

"He did it to stop me from yanking you out of him," Dean continued as the Devil approached the edge of the circle. "He knows this won't work," he added to himself softly. "Why?"

"Free me."

"Forget it."

Lucifer growled and ground his teeth, but then, with much effort, forced himself to affect a more benign presence. "Free me and I will pardon you," he said gently. "I know what you became in Hell, what power you held over the others. You're a natural leader, Dean. Let Alastair rule the pit, and you walk beside me here on Earth. You dictate who lives and who dies. You'll never feel the pain of loss again. You'll never be lonely again. You can have all that you want. Money. Food. Sex." One fist clenched. "Power beyond your imagination!" The Devil chuckled. "I'll even spare your brother. Provided, of course, he minds his manners."

Dean looked away.

"It won't be much different, Dean. There will always be things to hunt. You and Sam, it could be like old times. You'll be on the road with your family again, just like it was before. Isn't that what you want? Isn't that what you've always wanted?"

"And what would we hunt," Dean asked, returning his gaze to Lucifer who now stood nearby, looking at him with Sam's eyes, Sam's face, reflecting nothing but benevolence.

"Those who disobey my laws."

"What laws? Demons thrive on chaos."

"Without a leader they do," Lucifer said softly. "Sam could have been that leader. He could have been my second of command, but he chose another path, the path of betrayal. I'm now offering the job to you."

Without answering, Dean moved away, heading back toward the door where he tried the lock. Like before, it did not budge. Turning around, he saw Lucifer standing beside the chair in the center of the pentagram – waiting for an answer.

"What do I have to do?" he asked gruffly.

Lucifer smiled. "Let me out of this prison."

"And how do I do that?" Dean gestured toward the door. "Sam's still holding all the cards."

"Open the gate," Lucifer hissed. "Break the circle. He will have no choice but to open the door if he wants you to live."

"Whoa, so you're going to threaten my life?"

"You think Cahsssstiel is the only being who can raise the dead?" Raising his chin, Lucifer drew himself up in offense. "I was once one of his kind, the highest of their rank. No one,_ no one_ was as close to God as I! I have seen his face. I walked beside him when he made this ball of mud! You think I can't pull a soul from my own realm and stuff it back into its mortal flesh?"

Dean wasn't impressed. "Sure, whatever. Don't get your pitchfork in a knot there, Hamlet." Abruptly he raised the gun again. "Wouldn't it be easier if I just killed him?"

It was nearly imperceptible, the flinch, but Dean Winchester hadn't survived as long as he had against the creatures of the night to be blind to such body language. He noted that small twitch, and the way in which Lucifer casually moved out of the gun's sights with a slow step to the right. With a slight twist of his hips Dean followed the movement. This time he saw the Liar's mouth tighten in irritation. Beads of sweat appeared upon Sam's upper lip.

Dean tightened his grip on the gun.

"You wouldn't," Lucifer sneered. "You can't. You'll condemn him to Hell, and all the torment you yourself suffered. Do you want that for him, do you? Do you want to throw the baby you swore to protect back into the flames?"

"I never saved him, not really," Dean murmured. "Azazel would have never let him die in that fire."

"Does it matter? He's still your brother. You know what awaits him. He has enemies down there Dean, enemies in far greater numbers than you had, and they are much, much angrier. They'll never let him off the rack, never."

"You said you'd spare him if I free you." Slowly, Dean cocked the gun in his hand, a hand held surprisingly steady. "I'm going to free you." He shrugged. "Messy, maybe, but I'm sure you can tidy up after you get up to speed. Castiel put me back together after four months. I'm sure _you_ can fix Sammy right up after just twenty-four hours."

"Break the circle, Dean," Lucifer commanded. "And I won't have to. Let me out of this place."

"Nah, I don't think so." Dean said softly. His eyes narrowed. "You know what? I think you missed your flight window, buddy. Lilith opened it, but Cas and Sam slammed it shut before you could get out. That's what Sam has been trying to tell me. Castiel is wrong. It's not too late."

Lucifer let slide Sam's benign features, resuming his own malevolent interpretation. "You're a fool grasping at straws!"

"Am I? I don't think killing Sam is going to free you. The exorcism might have, but Sam's prevented that hasn't he? He's stronger than any of us thought, even you. Azazel's plan backfired. Your own blood binds you. You can't get lose on your own, and Sam's not letting you go." A book launched itself off Bobby's desk. Dean avoided it easily. "You don't have any power at all, do you?. You're using what Sam has, and there isn't much left. You _can't_ kill me."

"I can kill you!" Lucifer screamed. "I will _shred_ you!"

For a moment Dean closed his eyes, and had he been a praying man he might have asked God for strength, but he wasn't and he didn't. Instead he spent the time convincing himself it was time to throw in the towel. The thing he had been most afraid of had come true; the only way to _save_ Sam was to kill him.

"No," Dean said, opening his eyes. "You won't, because you're going back to Hell." His finger tightened around the trigger, aiming at what he now saw as the enemy, not his brother. "And you're going back the same way you got out."


	7. Thanks for the Memories

The door squealed as it opened. Dean didn't look up from where he sat on the edge of Bobby's desk. He'd set the gun aside and now stood staring down at his brother's body with a dull, lifeless expression – as if he too had died. Something certainly felt dead inside him. It had gone the moment he fired the gun; it went with the life he'd taken from Sam.

"You didn't know?" he asked quietly. "That we could still send him back like this? Tell me you weren't lying to me, Cas."

Castiel joined him at the desk. "No, I wasn't lying," he said. "I didn't know, not until Sam shut you in here. I realized then. I'm sorry, Dean. But...."

Dean raised his head to look at the angel with eyes gone cold and hard. "Don't you dare tell me I did the right thing. Don't you dare!"

The angel didn't continue. Instead he turned his head and looked off into the distance, avoiding Dean's gaze in favor of the wall. "It will take time to put new seals in place."

"How much time?"

"Months, a year. A year preferably. He must not be allowed to escape again."

With a wince, Dean shoved off the desk and went into the circle. He knelt and pushed Sam's hair back from his face. Beneath the bruises, Sam looked peaceful, as if he only slept. The sight was painfully familiar. The aching misery he felt deep down in his chest was just as familiar. His words too, followed an already beaten path.

"So, how long will I get?"

"You're assuming we're bargaining."

Dean stood up and returned to the angel. Their eyes met. "I think you'll bargain," he said. "I paid my debt, and more. God owes me some change."

"What do you want?"

"You know what I want." Dean replied. "And no stowaways this time."

"You'll be in debt again, Dean."

Nodding, Dean did not dispute this. "What does _he_ want?"

"Love. Faith. Obedience."

"He drives a hard bargain."

At this, Castiel smiled wryly. "You'll find that my father is more generous than Lilith," he said, and then added softly. "A lifetime, Dean. You'll have a lifetime."

Dean let out the breath he'd been holding. "Fine. I'll do whatever you and God want me to do, now _and_ in the hereafter – on one condition."

"You're already getting a condition, a pretty big one," Castiel pointed out. "You're getting your brother back with very few strings attached."

"Oh, this isn't for me. This is for Sammy."

* * *

Sam tossed the notebook he had been reading down and looked up at his brother from his hospital bed. While Dean had gone back to the motel for some rest, Sam had been reading. His first words to Dean upon his return were, "What the hell have you been smoking?"

"Nothing! It's all right there," Dean pointed to the notebook. "I swear to....God, Sammy. Every word is the honest truth." He paused, eyeing the remains of Sam's lunch. "Are you going to eat that Jello?"

"Dean...."

"Come on!"

With a long-suffering sigh, Sam pushed the Jello across his bed tray. "Here."

Dean hesitated before taking it. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry you have to go through it all again....you know....Jessica, and Dad....." He chewed his lip. "When I asked Cas to tweak your memory I didn't think he'd blast you back to oh-five, and then feed me some lame-ass excuse about it not being an exact science..."

"An angel. Dean come on, seriously?"

"Seriously. How do you think you got here?"

"By ambulance."

"Right, smart ass." Dean rolled his eyes. "And you got hurt, how?"

Sam gave him a _look._ "How am I supposed to answer that question if you had an angel wipe my memory?"

"So you believe an angel wiped your memory?"

"I'm more likely to believe my brother is a raving lunatic with a sick sense of humor." Sam toyed with the paper bracelet around his wrist, frowning at the name _Sam Houston_ printed on it_._ "For all I know Jess is...." he stopped. His voice grew rough as tears gathered in his eyes. "Never mind," he said softly. "I know she's gone. Somehow....I know."

Dean fidgeted in the silence that followed, and broke it with an honest confession. "I didn't want you to remember it, Sam. Not like I do. I just couldn't."

"You mean Hell?"

"Yeah." Taking a deep breath, Dean added, "It's not....good....there, Sammy."

Sam quietly studied his brother for a moment, searching his eyes for any tell-tale sign of deception. He found none, but whatever it was he did see hit him perhaps harder than the losses of Jessica and his father. "You're not lying, are you? All this," he gestured toward the notebook where Dean had attempted to record all the events that occurred during the five years of memory that were lost. "Is true?"

"Every word." The Jello temporarily forgotten, Dean retreated from his brother's scrutiny. At the window he looked down at the hospital's parking lot where a large black rectangle stood out in high relief among a sea of small, brightly-colored ovals. "Pinky swear," he said softly.

"Pinky swear," Sam murmured. "How old are you, seven?"

Dean returned to the bed and reclaimed the Jello. "Times ten." He paused. "I've missed you Sammy. It's been a rough year."

"You know, if we hadn't been raised with this stuff, I would be having you hauled down to the psych ward right now, or rehab to cure you of your crack habit." Pushing the tray back, Sam swung his legs off the bed, but grabbed Dean to steady himself as he swayed on his feet. "Dammit."

"Sorry."

"Your so-called angel sucks, Dean."

"Hey, you were dead longer! Cas did the best he could with what was left. We picked a bad place to bury you. Too wet. The coffin flooded." Dean eyed the Jello queasily for a moment before shrugging and peeling off the paper lid. "You got pretty squishy."

"Uh...gross?" Sam grimaced. "I can not get my head around any of this, seriously. I can't." He waved off his brother's offer of assistance and wobbled to the bathroom under his own power. "Just get me out of here, and _please_ tell me you aren't still into Dad's old hair bands."

Dean dug into the Jello. "Okay," he mumbled around a mouthful of plastic spoon. "I won't tell you."

"I heard that." A few minutes later Sam came out of the bathroom zipping up his jeans and looking a bit more steady on his feet. "Dean you have got to be kidding! You mean I'm going to be riding around with you and the best of mullet rock?"

"Looks like it," Dean grinned. "Just like old times."

Sam snorted. "And God has _you _earmarked for the angel corps. What's wrong with this picture?"

"Don't be an ass." Tossing the now empty Jello cup over his shoulder, Dean headed for the door. "Come on Sammy, shake a leg. We've got work to do."


End file.
